


I See You

by Marasa



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, Falling In Love, Feelings Realization, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, References to Sex, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:13:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28372188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marasa/pseuds/Marasa
Summary: They are so different, but that doesn’t stop them from trying to understand each other.
Relationships: Stewy Hosseini/Roman "Romulus" Roy
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	I See You

They are so different, but that doesn’t stop them from trying to understand each other.

Roman’s a chihuahua, yappy and short and compact, with a kind of ratty essence. Stewy isn’t sure what his type of man is, but he had initially been sure it wasn’t Roman Roy. His infatuation comes as a surprise to him, then, comes as even more of a surprise when these feelings toward Roman only grow in intensity each passing day.

Stewy should be everything Roman despises. A corporate superstar so far in the internal politics of big business that he’s effectively lost himself; Roman used to mock his family because of just how bullshit the whole racket was. Stewy should have never been on his radar but Roman is struck by him, intoxicated. 

They aren’t sure how it happens, why it happens; it shouldn’t happen. But it does and they are learning.

* * *

Stewy learns he has a thing for Roman’s hips.

He doesn’t really anticipate this until Roman is fevered and in his lap for the first time that Stewy realizes just how good it feels to hold Roman by the hips. Roman is smaller than him, not that Stewy has a towering and broad physique by any means, but Roman’s waist is narrow beneath Stewy’s hands. 

Stewy’s thumbs frequently slip under the hem of Roman’s shirt to rub small circles into the shallow hollows of his hip-bones. Stewy’s lips flirt with the skin at his waistband when Roman is shirtless and standing in front of him while Stewy remains sitting on the couch or the end of the bed. Roman’s skin is so soft here, the softest Stewy has ever felt with the tip of his tongue. Roman shaves his chest and lower stomach but Stewy relishes in the tickle of peach fuzz peppering his skin, nuzzling his nose beneath Roman’s bellybutton and hips between kisses until Roman, hazy-eyed and embarrassingly flushed, pushes him away.

Sometimes Stewy pinches the millimeter long dusting of fuzz on Roman’s skin just to tease him. Roman will hiss, push against him with that scowl of his, teeth bared like he’s a fucking animal or like he’s gonna do something. Sometimes he does; one time Roman takes a handful of Stewy’s hair and yanks harshly. It makes Stewy’s scalp throb, his dick twitch.

Roman, on the other hand, learns of his preoccupation with Stewy’s hands. 

They’re larger than his but it is hard to find anyone with hands that aren’t bigger than Roman’s. Stewy’s hands aren’t strong, but they are _sure_ —that is how Roman would describe them. His hands are confident and comforting, stable. 

Stewy has a terrible stroke of possessiveness when it comes to Roman, put on display in the way he holds Roman when they are alone together. He’ll take hold of his hips in a way that makes Roman lightheaded, stroke there with his thumbs, bringing goosebumps to break out across Roman’s skin, before sliding his palms to Roman’s lower back and holding him firmly to his front, protective, like he’s afraid someone might pull Roman away from him. 

The way Roman takes hold of Stewy’s face, then, feels like a silent reassurance of, _“You have me. Stewy, I’m right here.”_

Roman has the tendency to bite; he isn’t sure where this instinct comes from. Roman nips at Stewy’s fingers when they get close to his mouth. He leans forward, arches his back up off the mattress, with the desire to hold them between his teeth, taste the salt of Stewy’s fingers on his tongue. The first time he does, Stewy makes fun of him, tells him that if he bites his finger off, he’ll take twice as many of Roman’s toes.

Roman used to be a thumbsucker as a kid. The residual effects of whatever compelled him to soothe himself as a child are still present in his life now, perhaps even worse because he can understand the depths of this pain and fear, and it is not uncommon for him to chew on the ends of pens and straws, bite his fingernails, scratch his teeth with the edge of his black Amex. 

When he is floaty and warm in Stewy’s arms at the end of another night together, it is without a thought that he barely takes the tip of Stewy’s thumb between his lips when Stewy presses it there. And Roman hums, content, in his shallow dozing when Stewy kisses the nape of his neck and spoons up closer behind him.

* * *

Stewy learns Roman has differing needs. 

This is not how Stewy does it; Stewy approaches the proposal with hesitant curiosity but indulges in the lashing of Roman’s ego. Unpleasant names fall from his lips, names that are harder to call Roman at this stage of their relationship. At the beginning it was easier but now Stewy knows him too well, cares for him too much despite his best wishes. 

Stewy is no therapist but makes the vague connection that perhaps this is how Roman associates love, as a poisonous and thorned thing. Each insult is proof of someone’s attention and intense feeling, and in this case, Roman has made it sexual. 

Roman stands before him, curled in on himself as Stewy berates him, his words measured and constant. There’s a blush across Roman’s cheeks but Stewy can’t shake the way his shoulders are raised and his head is down, positioned so tensely. Stewy falters and goes quiet, then comes forward, takes Roman into his arms and clutches him to his front, because Roman’s actually scared him. Stewy isn’t sure if Roman will allow himself to receive love how Stewy desires to give it during times Roman needs it like this. Stewy does not fault him for it when Roman shrugs himself out of Stewy’s comforting embrace like he doesn’t deserve it. So Stewy steadies himself and instructs Roman verbally, firmly, how to give himself pleasure.

There is a bite to it. It is not as degrading as Roman would perhaps like but it is what Stewy can give. Roman sinks to the ground onto his knees, his hand in his pants and Stewy authoritative voice in his ears. Stewy sinks down onto the floor with him. There’s a foot of distance in between them and Stewy cranes his head in such a way as to catch the euphoric expression on Roman’s face when his chin is tucked to his chest.

Stewy learns the importance of aftercare. Roman is shivery in his arms, his mouth hot and wet and Stewy drags him up from the floor and into bed, kissing Roman’s jaw and his neck and his lips with the same insistence as if Stewy were claiming _“I didn’t mean it. All that shit—I didn’t mean it,”_ and Roman, in his pleasant haze, mumbles against Stewy’s jaw, “I’m okay, Stew.”

Roman learns Stewy laughs during sex.

At first it annoys him; he thinks it’s because he’s doing something wrong and Stewy is laughing at him for being such a disappointment. 

Roman cannot help but bite his bicep in response, but a new heat erupts across his face and down his chest when Stewy does not recoil from the sting of his teeth but leans closer into him, shushing him with a soft smile and a quieting laugh on his lips, kissing his temple as he lets up.

Roman wants to be let in on the joke. He soon discovers there is no grand joke he can not see or does not know, but rather Stewy is laughing because of the intense happiness in his chest, the contentment of being here with Roman, inside of him. He’s tickled by the sheer outlandishness that is being connected to Roman like this. 

Roman learns Stewy has such a beautiful smile. His teeth are white and straight. His eyes reflect a sparkling light whenever laughter bubbles up from his chest. The sound is so sweet, his chest jumping and stomach quivering with it. And it is a new kind of vulnerability and Roman takes adorable pity upon him, wraps his arms around Stewy’s shoulders and brings him into his neck as if to say, _“You’re okay. I've got you, you’re okay.”_

* * *

Roman learns of how Stewy turns numb.

It scares him at first. He doesn’t know what’s happening. Roman finds Stewy in an armchair at his place. He does not answer Roman’s cheeky greeting, at which point Roman asks Stewy what’s wrong with him. But Stewy’s zoned out, unwilling—or perhaps unable—to talk.

“Did you take something?” is Roman’s question. “Stewy. Do I have to stick my fingers down your throat or what, man? Stewy. Hey.”

Roman’s heart is beating faster when Stewy does not answer him. He comes up to the side of Stewy’s chair and places a hand on his shoulder, slides it to the side of his neck, up to his jaw to carefully turn his head so he can look at him. 

“ _Hey,”_ Roman whispers, worry audible in his soft tone. “What’s going on?” But Stewy makes no move to answer.

Roman takes his hands and helps him stand. He holds Stewy’s cheek and searches his face for any sign of an answer. But Stewy’s eyes are dark, exhaustion weighing heavy in his features. Roman’s brow draws together with concern as his hand slips off Stewy’s cheek. His heart hurts suddenly, and this is where Roman realizes this thing between them exists outside of the simple realm of lust. This is something else, and Roman doesn’t hate it, hates that he doesn’t hate it. 

Roman kisses Stewy’s palms, breath stuttering on the inhale when he feels Stewy’s fingers curl against his cheek. “Let’s go to bed. C’mon, Stewy.”

Once they’re in bed, Roman wraps himself around Stewy’s head, holding him protectively in the soft cradle of his stomach and thighs. He combs his fingers steadily through Stewy’s hair. Stewy’s eyes fall closed and Roman considers it a small victory.

It happens a few other times. Roman notices it occurring after long weekends with Sandy in which they’re making deals and managing coked-out lawyers and business types. During those times, it looks like Stewy regrets it all. Kendall used to say Stewy had other aspirations, good ideas to explore and even better business plans. But then he found himself on this path and it was too good of a position to give up. 

Roman stays up long after Stewy has fallen to sleep on those nights, fretting and comforting Stewy as he sleeps contently with Roman wrapped around him. 

Stewy learns how Roman grows frustrated.

It would seem Logan enjoys belittling his son. He likes insisting he is insignificant in all the ways Roman wishes his father was proud of him. Roman paces restlessly and scratches the back of his head in the aftermath, a nervous tic he exhibits in high-stress situations. 

Stewy watches. He is silent and keeps a distance; he learns it’s better for Roman to sit with his feelings for a little while and begin to work through them on his own, that it might be too precarious to touch him just yet. But on nights of exceptional upset, Roman’s scratching increases in speed before finally halting with a thump of his fist to the back of his head. 

Stewy stands abruptly from his chair as if he’s the one who’s been struck. He bridges the space between them. His heart is hammering in his chest as he guides Roman’s arm away from his head, taking his hand and holding it securely. Roman is hurt. He is not a crier like his big brother but moisture gathers in his eyes as a shimmery sheen. 

Stewy learns that it takes great caution to calm him down. Roman’s first instinct is to lean away from comfort. He wants to insult and spit, because Logan insists vulnerability is weakness, that leaning on someone emotionally is a fucking disgrace. But Stewy kisses Roman’s balled up fists and presses their foreheads together while Roman huffs and growls and grinds his forehead against Stewy’s.

Words flow out of Roman, pieces he’s been holding onto, as he rambles almost incomprehensibly: _“It’s not fucking fair, it’s_ not _. D-Dad doesn’t, how— Stewy, I— I_ hate _it, I hate this so much. Stewy, I won’t— Stewy—“_

And it is when Stewy whispers, “I love you,” that Roman bursts into tears because he hadn’t been expecting it and it is everything he needs to hear right now. 

* * *

They learn what the other needs and how they need it.

Roman is starved for it. He kisses like he needs the air from Stewy’s lungs. He crawls into Stewy’s lap and takes hold of his face, working his lips hard and fast against him while his hips roll against his stomach greedily. 

He tugs at Stewy’s belt, pulls hard enough at his collar that the first button threatens to pop off. Roman does not want it as much as actively _needs_ it, like he’s going to suffocate without it, like he’s never tasted or felt something as good as Stewy’s tongue, Stewy’s hands, Stewy’s everything.

Stewy is much slower in his approach. He savors every slick movement of their lips together. He rolls Roman easily onto his back, pressing him into the mattress and pinning his hands down on either side of his head. It’s a grounding gesture that successfully calms Roman’s frantic movements. 

Roman feels like Stewy could go on for hours like this. Foreplay would probably drag on all night if Roman didn’t grow audibly impatient and start biting at Stewy’s swollen lips, demanding he get on with it. 

They learn how the other loves. 

Roman loves with touch. He loves by threading his and Stewy’s fingers together in bed and in the back of cars. He loves by draping himself across Stewy as a cat would, stretching out over him in various stages of undress and sinking into the feeling of Stewy’s hands on him, over chest, his waist, his stomach. He loves completely and unapologetically, bold, so bold.

Stewy loves in words spoken quietly. They come out as sweet nothings whispered against Roman’s neck and chest, names like “Baby” and “Darling” and “Sweetheart.” Stewy loves with great focus. He stares into Roman’s eyes, traces his fingers featherlight down the cords of Roman’s neck, down his bare torso, giving attention to every blemish and faded scar without the searing burn of lust but instead with the crackling warmth of wanting to _know_ Roman. 

‘I see you’— that phrase pervaded the Roy lexicon. If felt not only applicable but true between Roman and Stewy. Every touch, every kiss, every moment spent together is another facet of seeing. And there is still so much to see, for they have learned they want to see everything of each other. 


End file.
